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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24194713">From Now On We Are Enemies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0dy/pseuds/c0dy'>c0dy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:09:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,644</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24194713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0dy/pseuds/c0dy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is hard enough without invaders breathing down your neck, but Arthur’s getting used to less-than-favourable situations.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Denmark/England (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>From Now On We Are Enemies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s always easy to tell when another nation is near. Your blood starts pumping a little faster, your hair stands on end, fire can burn in your lungs - but mostly, these feelings can be ignored. But Arthur couldn’t seem to shake his senses.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first he felt it, he was near his westerly brother’s border, so (assuming the presence of Cymru) he moved along, towards to eastern sea, but the feeling would not shake. If anything, it grew a tronger with every step he took. During the nights of his travel, he would hold Dog close, scared to close his eyes, as if he would blink and Rome would appear before him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But still, his (their) island seemed quiet, so Arthur persisted. Walking miles without tiring, first to his eastern shores then higher, further, through settlements and towns, as if patrolling some perimeter of his unspoken territory, like a fox sensing prey. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Or predator, Arthur thought some nights. Nights he would spend awake, eyes peeled, the fur of Dog’s neck in one hand and his sword in the other.)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t long (for a nation) until he reached the far North of his territory, where he was accepted with open arms by a small community near the sea. The people there still dealt with the Old Gods, as was his preference. They particularly took to Dog, not used to pets themselves. During the days, he practiced and prayed, and at nights he would make the trek to the coast, eyes set on the horizon, unable to escape the thunder in his veins, the very magic that held him together screaming out against something he couldn’t see. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It couldn’t be Rome, not again. Arthur had seen to it himself that man would never walk their Earth again. But that same fear stuck in the back of his mind like the fleas clung to Dog. Unwanted, and unshakable.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even here, in a place that fought to provide comfort, the nation still felt restless. The fire in his lungs turned to an inferno, and his veins gave him a constant dull ache. Desperate for answers, all too soon, he and Dog ended their stay, and headed further north. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Closer to Alba’s border than Arthur would like, they came across another trace of civilisation. This one certainly more of a town than the last. There, they were Christian, and Arthur had to grind his teeth and spit out Latin, which soured his mouth and sent (unwanted, awful, terrible) images through his mind during the nights. The priests there seemed to think his aversion to the language was aversion to the words, however, and despite his arguments to the contrary, they insisted he travel across the narrow channel to an island of monks for ‘religious reflection.’ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Of course he held aversion to the language </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>and</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">the words, but the two were mutually exclusive.) </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, with yet more complaints (and yet more symptoms - a black pit in his stomach, nervous sweats, a stinging headache in his left temple) Arthur made his way east once more, this time in the back of the wagon, Dog at his side with his head on his paws, staring out the back as if searching for some hidden enemy. Arthur couldn’t blame him, it was all he could do these days.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The monastery wasn’t bad, in of itself. The monks were nice (for Christians), the food was nice (for Albion), and the beds were fairly comfy (as much as straw could get.) Dog seemed to charm the humans here, too, as they threw him scraps of chicken and lamb bones after dinner, and scratched him behind the ears when they passed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a faery deity, Dog certainly enjoyed simple attentions. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One morning, though, Arthur awoke to find the dull ache had turned to pain, the fire in his lungs was choking him, and his fingers felt numb and useless as he reached up in an attempt to yank the hair from his skull. Dog’s teeth were sunk in his tunic, trying desperately to pull him from the bed. With a rough grunt and desperate tug from the canine, he landed on the floor in a heap - the cool flagstone on burning skin seeming to send a dart of clarity through his addled mind. The pounding in his head was present, but amplified by a ringing bell sounding out across the island.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Arthur groaned in displeasure, stiff muscles and aching joints grinding in aversion as he hauled himself to his feet, fingers only just brushing the hilt of the long-unused sword at his headboard before the door flung open, and suddenly the pain was an agony and the pounding reverberated in his skull as if his skull was about to explode and his veins </span>
  <span class="s2">thrummed </span>
  <span class="s1">with such power that stars streamed in the corners of his vision, but as his woooden fingers finally found the hilt and he spun on his heel, green eyes met blue and it all dissipated. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“</span>
  <span class="s2"><em>Hello</em>,</span>
  <span class="s1">” said the man, in a language Arthur half-remembered, “I’m going to guess you’re Angleland.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With his mind the clearest it had been in months, the words seemed through reverberate through every bone in his body with the </span>
  <span class="s2">clarity </span>
  <span class="s1">of it all. Every sense was on high alert - without the fog of pain, Arthur could now feel clearly the lives of his people fading fast on the little island, could smell the stench of sweat and death emanating from the man in front of him, could see how sharply the thick red blood contrasted against his coarse grey shirt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Albion adjusted his stance, sword at the ready, Dog at his side with his mouth drawn back in a snarl, ears flat against his head. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m afraid you’d be right,” is all he replied, causing the other man to grin in a nearly crazed manner, eyes shining with an emotion Arthur was afraid to place.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, that’s perfect,” he stated, stepping fully into the room, revealing not only his superior height, but formidable axe as well, “Because I’d quite like you to come with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before Arthur could even breathe to start a reply, the handle of the man’s axe came swinging at his head. Muscle memory brought his sword up immediately, catching the axe before it hit, and the two struggled momentarily before the invader cried out, loosening his grip and allowing Arthur to duck under his weapon and sprint out the exit. A cursory look over his shoulder revealed Dog having sunk his teeth deep into the man’s calf. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a cry of frustration, Dog was kicked away, and Albion turned his gaze back in the direction of his mainland, breaking into yet another sprint. He had nearly reached the monastery gates before two more invaders came hurtling around the corner of the granary, weapons raised and shouting (assumedly) obscenities. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a curse of his own, the blonde skidded on his heel, aiming for a gap between two living quarters on the other side of the path - but the man from earlier had caught up by then, and he came crashing into Arthur, sending them both into a pile on the floor. With a grunt, Arthur swung his arm up, aiming to swipe his nails at the man’s eye, but he swiftly struck his knee into Albion’s stomach, stronger hands pinning his wrists to the mud, and before long all Arthur could do was spit and growl curses at the invader above him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you’re definitely a handful,” the other man sneered, and it was then as Albion got a better look of him that he realised it wasn’t a man at all - if anything, he could only be a year or so older than himself. His blond hair fell sloppily into his eyes, one braid on the side of his face, and a strong jaw that was yet see any semblance of a beard. Albion couldn’t decided if this was better or worse than an adult. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get off me, you prick,” Arthur snarled, lashing out with his boot and the invader’s other knee, which buckled and fell solidly into the dirt. This only caused his grip to tighten, however, and his face dropped closer to the nation underneath him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will think about it,” he replied, all-too cheerfully, “but let’s get to know each-other first.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then, quite suddenly, the invader’s face disappeared, and Arthur watched bewildered as he was thrown several metres away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on, you wee idiot,” someone said gruffly, and Arthur nodded numbly as he accepted the extended hand of his brother. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, staring out as the invader struggled to sit upright, now looking decidedly more put-out than anything. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s not fair!” he snapped, “Now it’s one against two!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s two against nothing,” Alba replied, his perpetual scowl hardening as he stared ahead at the blonde, “You’re going to clear off, if you know what’s good for you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The invader’s mouth opened, then snapped shut, set in a sneer. One of his men ran up and grabbed his arm, pulling him upright, and the invader gave Arthur one more once-over, before turning tail and running off after his ally. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Alba began, back to a language far more familiar, “that was exciting.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure he’ll be back,” Arthur stated, turning to face his brother, “he’s probably not even going to leave.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alasdair hummed thoughtfully, clapping his hand on the other’s shoulder, “Well, keep him your problem, alright? I only came down since you were so close.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Albion rolled his eyes but nodded, pushing the hand off, and turning back to stare at the direction the invader had gone. Dog was trotting happily towards him, looking none worse for wear and sporting a fair amount of blood around his maw. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, well,” Arthur paused to rub some residue dirt out of his eye, “we shall have to see.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! I couldn’t sleep and just ended up writing because of it. I haven’t really written in a while so forgive me if this is quite terrible :’)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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